A great story written about my Father by my Sister 'Rosie Clare' Music Jamey Darnold

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THE USUAL WAY
R. Powell



IT’S 5:15; THE BIRDS ARE OUT TO PLAY
STRETCHING WITH THE DAWN, HE’S UP FOR THE DAY
A WHITE SHAVING MUG, WITH ROUND CAKE SOAP
I HEAR HIS WHISKERS CRUNCH, AS HE HUMS WITH HOPE

COFFEE AND CREAM, TOAST AND JELLY
NOTHING MUCH, JUST SOMETHING FOR HIS BELLY
A SMALL KITCHEN TABLE, WHEN ALONE FEELS SMALLER
WHILE LORETTA LYNN FILLS THE AIR
WITH TALES OF BUTCHER HOLLER

HE’S A STRONG STUBBORN MAN, WITH A STURDY FRAME
THE RAILROAD CALLS, HE’S ON HIS OWN WAY
WITH NINE GROWING KIDS, AND BILLS TO PAY
DADDY STARTS HIS DAY, THE USUAL WAY

BLACK LUNCH BOX, HOLDS THE SAME EVERYDAY
I HEAR THE DOOR CLOSE, THE SMELL OF AFTER SHAVE
HIS STEEL TOED SHOES, THEY’RE WALKING AWAY
DADDY HAS GONE, HE’S GONE FOR THE DAY

I FIND A SCRATCHY LITTLE NOTE, WAS LEFT ON THE TABLE
HE TELLS ME GOOD JOB, HE NEW I WAS ABLE
A TEN CENT TREAT, FOR A ICE CREAM CONE
DADDY WAS PROUD, I CAN HEAR IT IN HIS TONE

HE’S A STRONG STUBBORN MAN, WITH A STURDY FRAME
THE RAILROAD CALLS, HE’S ON HIS WAY
WITH NINE GROWING KIDS, AND BILLS TO PAY
DADDY STARTS HIS DAY, THE USUAL WAY
DADDY STARTS HIS DAY, THE USUAL WAY